Cold
by indiagold
Summary: Sherlock finds ways to annoy or molest John in the nicest ways.Fluff and humour. Oneshot but more to come. Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the BBC TV characters Sherlock and John.**

**This is the beginning of a series of stories where Sherlock annoys/molests John in the nicest possible way.**

1. **Cold**

It was February in London and the weather was terrible –thick frost on the pavements and the forecast was that there would be no let up in the very low temperatures for the next few days. To top it all the central heating had broken down in the flat again. Well, at least they had the coal fire for some warmth.

John walked into the flat tired and cold late one Friday night, having just come back from a two day medical conference in Liverpool. Finding Sherlock slumped in his chair in his overcoat; John noticed with exasperation that the fire wasn't lit. Sherlock was such a lazy git; he'd obviously let it go out and waited for John to come home to light it. He would have to do it, but hot tea first. After he drank his tea he discovered that mysteriously, they were down to their last bucket of coal.

John confronted Sherlock about this, as they had had easily a week's supply and John had ordered some more before he had left for Liverpool. With his customary efficiency it would be delivered next week just in time. Sherlock jumped out of the chair and started pacing. "Terrible draught up the chimney John and you know what that does for the fuel consumption. "

John could tell Sherlock was about to start rolling out facts and figures so he raised a hand and said sternly, "No! What **really** happened to the last of the coal supply?" Sherlock looked furtively around the flat and flicked a slightly guilty look at John, or what passed for it with Sherlock; pursed lips and a glint in his eye.

"If you must know, I needed to establish how hot this flat can get if I pile the coal up as high as I can on the fire and continuously feed it for 40 hours. If you recall John this flat is similar to the one where Christopher Brand's body was found and of course the body was more decomposed than it should have been therefore I…"

John marched over to him. "Oh for God's sake Sherlock you mean you used up the coal for an experiment?" Sherlock nodded once not looking at John. " But you ordered some more yes?" said Sherlock vaguely waving a hand in John's direction and plonked himself back on the chair. "Yeees", said John slowly and dangerously, but it won't be delivered until next Tuesday because I **calculated**- yes that's right I **do** have a brain, that we had enough to last us until then."

Sherlock pouted and looked down at the rug.

"Right I'm going to bed" and John stomped off. As he went up the stairs he heard a small peevish voice say, "So you're not lighting our fire then?"

A couple of hours later John was still sitting up in bed reading a crime novel. Even though he was tired the plot was very good and he knew he wouldn't sleep until he'd finished it. At least he had a bit of peace without Sherlock looking over his shoulder at the text and muttering, "Rubbish, boring obvious."

The room was freezing, but John was dressed warmly in pyjamas; an old cardigan and a lambswool blanket around his shoulders. He'd kept his socks on, pulling another pair on top. On his head he had placed the flat tweed cap that Sherlock had 'borrowed' from the theatre props in an attempt to disguise them from the Press. They had become an internet phenomenon as Lestrade observed.

As a very good doctor he knew much body heat was lost through the head. He only wished he could find his fingerless wool gloves, but they had disappeared months ago after he'd moved in with Sherlock.

Just as he turned a page, he heard a slight movement outside his bedroom. Looking across he saw the doorknob slowly turning and suddenly the door swung open to reveal Sherlock wearing pyjamas; the red and the blue silk dressing gowns. His goose down duvet was swathed around his shoulders, trailing behind him on the floor. He moved swiftly over to the bed and pulling John's covers off threw himself in beside him. "John." he yelled with some urgency, "Move over." Not that John had much choice as he was rapidly being shoved to one side of the bed.

"Sherlock what are doing?"

"Don't ask idiot questions John, it is perfectly obvious. I am certain I am in the first stages of hypothermia and require your body heat immediately."

He flung his duvet over the bed and settled down pulling the spare pillow from under John's head and placing it under his own.

"You should have realised John that the ambient temperature of the flat has reduced considerably in the last hour and that I was in severe danger of developing this condition. But then you're a rubbish doctor and it probably wouldn't have occurred to you. I'd be lying dead tomorrow and you wouldn't have noticed. "All this was rattled out in a 'pretend' hurt and slightly hysterical voice.

John stared at Sherlock noting the very outraged pout and mouth turned down at the corners. Sherlock glanced at him, tossed his head away turning over onto his right side wriggling himself against John. The bed began to shake with John's laughter. Sherlock turned his head around again and glared at John. "You do know how to manipulate me don't you? ", said John giggling. You knew I would be cross at being disturbed so you made me laugh."

Putting his book on the bedside table, he turned off the light and threw an arm around Sherlock.

"Better? "

"Maybe John, but you will have to keep talking to me as I may lose consciousness."

"In my dreams." John laughed again.

After a minute or two of silence Sherlock spoke into the darkness. "John, how did you know I was lying about the fuel being used up because of the strength of the draught in the chimney?"

"Simple, there has been a very hard frost these last few days and that means weather-wise there have been no strong winds. You never know Sherlock, a fact like that might come in handy for one of your cases, but I guess you've deleted it already."

"Mmmmm. Goodnight John."

"Goodnight Sherlock."


	2. Chapter 2

2. **Armpits**

**Again I do not own the characters from Sherlock BBC TV .Thank you for all your reviews! I did this as a standalone but am adding it to "Cold"**

"Hi Sherlock, I'm back."

There was silence in the flat.

John tried again, shouting louder this time.

"Got your stuff!"

Sherlock had texted him earlier at the surgery where John worked, to request-well, **demand** of course, some swab-taking equipment and specimen jars.

John shrugged at the continued silence and went into the kitchen, depositing the "stuff" on the shelf marked Medical Supplies (No food!). John insisted on having this part of the kitchen under his command so that it was routinely checked for sell by dates, disinfected and generally kept in good order. Well, someone had to.

Still silence.

John decided that Sherlock was either out chasing criminals or in his mind palace, probably lying flat out on his bed. Whatever, it meant that John had a bit of peace to go upstairs and have a nice uninterrupted hot shower.

He came out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to his room, (neat, tidy, calm as befitted an army man). Once there, he put on some music-Katy Melua, love her.

He stripped off his clothes and walked across the little landing to his small shower room. He was half-way across when he was suddenly seized by a pair of skinny arms and stared at by a pair of bright, glittering, mad, almond-shaped eyes.

"John, I need you!"

John froze as the Consulting Detective and Best Friend and Mate and well- everything, clutched John's upper arms in a vice like grip.

"What now." John croaked.


	3. Chapter 3

"What now." John croaked.

"I need to smell your armpits John, stop complaining as I know you will do."

Sherlock yanked up John's left shoulder –the bad one.( shot up in Iraq/Afghanistan).

"Owww", cried John

Sherlock thrust his nose right into John's armpit, his dark curls tickling John.

"AAh …."

"What the hell are you doing Sherlock?"

His new best friend and lunatic flatmate ignored John and continued-

"Yes; I can smell that strange scent of honey-a bit like H G Wells.

"Pardon?"

"H. . You know the book "War of the Worlds?". His mistresses said that his skin smelled like honey."

"Oh." John breathed out slowly.

Sherlock pulled up John's other arm, and, again breathing deeply smelled, (Or possibly smiled).

"Will you just piss off?" Said John.

"This is important John, because I believe that you emit a specific scent, which allows my brain downtime. They are called pheromones, and I think, in fact; I believe that you are the unique individual that holds the key to the fact that I can sleep, when normally I cannot. It is you John that holds the key to my sleeping and eating disorders."

Sherlock let John's arm drop. _"Thank goodness."_

Sherlock whipped out the swabs and specimen bottles out of his blue dressing gown.

"Just stop this now!" yelled John.

Sherlock was clutching a specimen bottle in one hand and a swab in the other

"It's quite simple John, I am going to take some samples of your sweat. Obviously, it is contaminated by your bacteria, but I can distinguish between the pheromones and the overnight bacteria. Therefore I will be able to isolate the pheromones that do me good and quite frankly, the bacteria allow me to know that it is you. In short, you have a particular smell in the morning.

"Yeah, but this is the evening." said John, lamely.

"Oh." said Sherlock.

John sighed, "You really do talk some rubbish, don't you?"

They smiled at each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sherlock molesting John again.**

**Again I do not own Sherlock TV or any of the characters. Thank you all for your lovely reviews.**

Hot.

It was a very hot day in London. The summer of all summers. The two windows of 221B Baker Street that overlooked the street were open. The air in the flat was still.

John was sitting in his usual armchair. He was wearing a pair of **s**horts, plus a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt and was in the process of completing his Times Crossword.

This was a habit John had learned when he was in hospital, recovering from his war injuries sustained whilst serving in Afghanistan. Solving the clues were a great comfort to him. It kept his mind off things and he was, to his surprise really rather good at cryptic crosswords.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa, watching his friend intently. John always surprised him, because most people Sherlock knew were idiots. Yet John could complete this particular crossword within ten minutes. Sherlock had read somewhere, that this was unusual.

"_Why have I not deleted this?"_

Sherlock clasped his delicate hands together.

"_Because it's John," _said a small quiet voice in Sherlock's mind.

"_Oh! It was something to do with code-breaking/Second World War stuff. They recruited people like John, who were intelligent. Sometimes it was easier to use people like John to solve spy codes or whatever. Computerisation was in its infancy."_

Sherlock stared at his friend. _"You are not stupid are you?"_

John continued filling in the crossword.

Sherlock had had no "live" cases for a week." _Dear lord he was bored. How can John just sit there and not notice? He just finishes his godamm crossword. Did he do these puzzles in order to distract himself from the horrors of war?" _Sherlock wasn't certain.

.A minute or so passed, and John sighed, putting the folded newspaper to one side; He was done. Sherlock noticed, with a start, that now John was bored too.

"_Think._ _John needs distracting."_

.John was nodding off. He sighed and let his head slip to one side.

Sherlock waited a few minutes until he was sure John was firmly asleep. Then he was on his feet barrelling towards the central heating boiler. With great glee, he opened the cupboard where it was housed. Sherlock scanned the various dials and buttons.

"_All I have to do is_….. _think Sherlock_," (he was unfamiliar with the boiler now, as John was always in charge of it after, "_**The incident."**_ asJohn angrily called it.)

Got it! Aah yes press the On button and turn the knob on the right hand side to **Hot. **That done, all he had to do was find a tube of superglue. Giggling, he went into the kitchen and rummaged through drawer after drawer until he found it.

_Excellent!_ He crept out of the kitchen into the living room, unscrewing the cap off the tube and throwing it to one side. Advancing towards his sleeping flatmate, he could just about suppress the faint rumble of laughter that was threatening to bubble up inside his chest. He stood in front of him observing for a moment John's face, noting how the worry lines on his forehead had smoothed out a little and the way the sunlight gleamed on his ash blonde hair.

To work!

Sherlock began with the front buttons of John's shirt. He delicately applied the fine plastic nozzle of the glue tube to each one describing a thin circle of glue around them so that the buttons became firmly attached to the cotton material underneath. He had a bit of difficulty with the last two because the shirt was rucked up a bit around John's waist. He just gently eased the material out bit by bit and finished the job.

There was a moment during this procedure when John made a little snuffling sound and moved slightly. Sherlock had leapt back ensuring he was behind the armchair out of line of sight. He waited a few seconds until he was sure John had settled, and then he started work on the collar. This was easy; he just took the two sides and with a dollop of glue stuck the pieces together, holding them in place for a minute between his fingers, until he was sure they were firmly stuck. The shirt collar was now fairly tight around John's neck.

Finally, the zip fastener on John's shorts was easily dealt with-one straight line of glue and it was done. Sherlock tossed the empty tube over his shoulder in triumph. Now all he had to do was wait.

**A/N next chapter might be even hotter bear with me**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hot **Part 2

A few minutes ticked by and the living room was becoming uncomfortably hot. Leaning forwards in his chair with hands clasped together, Sherlock observed closely. John's head was drooped onto his chest lolling slightly to the right. His left arm was resting on the chair arm whilst his right was resting in his lap. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and the skin was flushed. His breathing was barely perceptible. Some sweat marks were beginning to form on the front of the Hawaiian shirt.

Sherlock considered closing the windows, but dismissed the thought for, although having them closed would speed up the reactions of his flatmate, he was had read somewhere, that it could be vaguely dangerous as John's body might overheat and this could cause him to start convulsing or something.

_If that happened then I would have to call an ambulance; "boring", and that would ruin the plan entirely. Plus there would be some explaining to do about the superglued clothes. _Sherlock steepled his fingers to his lips and considered this.

_Mind you, if anyone could think up a plausible explanation as to why my flatmate has the fastenings of his clothes glued together, then IT'S ME. Easy come to think of it. _Sherlock leaned back in his chair and imagined the ambulance arriving; the paramedics tearing up the stairs; imagining **his** actions.

_I naturally will be holding a bowl of cold water in one hand and dipping a flannel into it with the other ready to place it again on John's forehead. My speech to the medics? AAh yes. I would solemnly and with some "pretend" embarrassment state that John had; Hmmmh, a fetish for this very thing. It is sad but there we are. Fortunately, I was home in time to save him._

Sherlock sighed dismissing the scenario. _John would be hell to live with for weeks after,_ so he leaned forward again to continue his observations.

The sweat patch on the front of John's shirt was spreading and was accompanied by seepage from under his arms. John's breathing rate was increasing and he was starting to make strange little snuffling noises; his hands started to twitch and his head began to move a little from side to side.

Sherlock leapt up and striding into the kitchen, located the boiler and turned it off. He grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter and put them in his trouser pocket knowing he would require them.

Returning to the living room, he observed that John was now struggling to his feet panting and wiping a hand over his face to remove the rivulets of sweat that Sherlock knew would be coursing down his face. Sherlock halted so that he was a few paces behind John and activated the stopwatch facility on his wristwatch. He waited quiet as a mouse.

John started tugging first of all at his collar pulling it this way and that. _Six seconds_. Not getting anywhere he turned his attention to the shirt buttons, trying to undo them one by one. _Fifteen seconds. Oh! this is shaping up nicely. _Sherlock's eyes were riveted on the scene- sheer joy welling in his chest at the experiment coming alive, so to speak.

_Another three seconds_; John turns around catching Sherlock's eyes.

"For heaven's sake Sherlock what the hell is going on? Something is wrong; I just can't…Sherlock help!"

Sherlock moved swiftly toward his flatmate. "You're doing just fine John. Now try to take your shorts off."

"**You what?"**

"Just **try** John- I am timing you." Sherlock showed his wristwatch to John and tapped it knowingly looking straight at his flatmate.

Dizzy and puzzled John attempted to pull down his flies and of course failed miserably. _Ten seconds._

John gave up and standing full square to Sherlock he put his hands on his hips, realising he was swaying slightly, "You git, this is you isn't it? Stop this rubbish now! What the hell are you doing?"

Sherlock in one swift movement disabled the stopwatch and advanced towards John flourishing the scissors. They glittered in the sunlit room.

_Dear God_

John stumbled back a few paces his calves making contact with the coffee table. "Get away, you've really lost it Sherlock, it's the heat it's….."

John, uncertain in his current state whether he would be able to connect his fist with any degree of accuracy to Sherlock's jaw, scrabbled in his hazy state for some kind of weapon. He found a heavy-yes maybe about two pounds or so of a scientific volume that he vaguely recalled Sherlock had been reading a few days before. _This will do_. His left hand clawed at it.

Sherlock halted and lowering the scissors, smiled, ensuring that he was outside of the _"John with heavy book swiping range."_

"You have been of invaluable help John. I have been a bit under-employed of late as you know, and have been reviewing some of the Yard's cold cases." John clutched onto the heavy volume, but Sherlock's smooth rational voice calmed him a little.

"You see," he continued, "the victim was poisoned as it turned out. The curious fact though, was that he had tried, and in some part, succeeded in tearing some of his clothing off."

Sherlock put his head to one side, waiting for a response. He noticed that John's grip on the volume had loosened somewhat.

"So?" said John angrily.

Sherlock continued smoothly.

"Sooo…, Forensics established that the murderer had cunningly coated the victims' clothes in a neurotoxin. The victim was found in a flat-central heating at its highest, on a summer's day. It turns out that this toxin could only be activated by heat, above that of normal body temperature. May I add also that this particular toxin, in its activated state reacts with cloth-to whit pure 100% cotton in that case, by causing the cloth to temporarily adhere to human skin. Sherlock paused, "your current clothing including your underwear is 100% cotton."

John slumped onto the coffee table. Sherlock rattled on.

"I simply needed to establish how long the victim would take to remove his clothes or some of them before the toxin took its deadly effect. He would have been in a state of disorientation due to the heat of the room and I wished to replicate this. My method was to secure your clothing so that it was difficult to take off."

John stood up as best he could and glared at Sherlock. He moved a few steps forward grasping Sherlock by the shoulders in a vice-like grip, yet mindful of the position of the scissors still held upright in Sherlock's hand.

_Oh! How thrilling it was to feel John's fingers digging into his shoulders-must examine self later for bruising patterns._

"You are not saying that….?" John was aware that his voice sounded slightly hysterical. _"No Sherlock wouldn't-he couldn't." _John felt sick and disorientated.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course your clothes aren't poisoned. Just a bit-well stuck together."

"Can you just get these clothes off me?" sighed John, weakly, his arms dropping to his sides.

"Of course!" Sherlock stepped forward with the scissors and started hacking at his flatmate's shirt. Snipping deftly in a straight line up alongside the buttons, he then tilted John's head slightly upwards to cut through the collar pieces.

"Watch out you're near my blasted throat you maniac." Yelled John.

"I know what I'm doing." said Sherlock firmly, turning his attention to the short sleeves of the shirt.

Snip snip, and with a flourish Sherlock swept the tattered remnants into the air.

"Now," he said tugging at the waistband of John's shorts, "we're nearly done."

John grabbed Sherlock's wrist fiercely and wrenched the scissors out of his hand. Clutching them and throwing a death glare at his flatmate, he headed for the stairs leading to his room.

"I'll run the shower for you." Sherlock called after him.

"NO!"

Sherlock shrugged. "Only trying to help."

A few minutes later John stood under the cool water, feeling relief as it coursed down his warm back. He turned around slowly lifting his face to the showerhead, and, closing his eyes, let the rivulets pour off it down onto his chest and stomach. Bliss. He'd borrow the maniac's credit card tomorrow and go on a spending spree in the clothes shops. This made him feel better still.

Suddenly, the shower curtain was thrust aside. John jumped, being confronted by Sherlock's face tilted to one side, complete with a predatory grin and gleaming eyes. A delicate hand pushed something towards him. John, backed up now against the cool ceramic tiles, eyed it suspiciously.

"Natural sea sponge John, from Florida. I understand it's gentle on human skin."

John gulped.

Finis Thank you all for the reviews.


	6. Chapter 6

Payback time.

John grabbed the sponge from Sherlock's hand.

"There's nothing weird on it, is there?" He said, staring hard at his flatmate.

"Nope" said Sherlock smiling, "I'll rinse you down with it if you like."

"No way!" In one swift movement, John pulled the shower head from its socket and smirking, started to spray cold water all over Sherlock's expensive shirt and trousers, which of course incredibly had no signs of sweat on them.

Sherlock jumped back a little startled, but then threw his arms open wide allowing the water to soak him. John was nonplussed by Sherlock's attitude. _"He's supposed to tell me to 'Piss off'._ He realised that infuriatingly, Sherlock was starting to laugh and John, blushing, became aware of his own nakedness.

He angrily put the showerhead back in position and pulled the curtain closed. Sherlock was now clattering down the stairs still laughing.

"_Well that didn't work."_

A few minutes later John stepped out of the shower oddly soothed by two things: the sponge was delightful to use, but then his friend was always right in matters of personal grooming. There was more though. John was going to seek a pleasant revenge on Sherlock_._ He would give his friend something to explain. _"What would the man with a brain the size of Saturn say?"_

A couple of weeks later, John assembled all the items he required for his plan. First of all he took a trip to the local High street. _**The Party Shop**_. It provided everything from dressing up costumes, masks and all, to fake blood; Halloween fangs; Pretend doggie poo; Silly string; Fireworks. There was even a birthday cake ordering service. He wouldn't be requiring any of the above. Oh no, something else entirely. Two small tubs would do plus a couple of paintbrushes. John paid for these and then went to his local Pharmacy.

He placed a prescription for a sedative (in his own hand and perfectly properly for himself.) Signed: Dr J H Watson. Waiting for the prescription, John bought a small bottle of coconut oil.

Hurrying back to Baker Street with his purchases, John paused on the pavement, allowing people to push past him. He had second thoughts. It wasn't about what he was going to do to Sherlock, it was about concealment. He could always put the sedative by his bedside, or in the kitchen cupboard marked "Medical supplies-No food." With Sherlock, sometimes it was better to be honest, that way his deduction would amount to nothing more than, say"_ John's changed his medication to alleviate his odd nightmare." _

Keep it in plain sight.

"_Ok"_John kept with a plan to leave the sedative on his bedside table. It was the 'other stuff' that he needed to hide well.

John continued on towards Baker Street. Mrs Hudson was the key. He could put the '_other stuff'_ in her fridge and if she asked any questions then he would say it was a surprise for Sherlock. She could keep a secret-loved them in fact.

On arriving back at the flat, John spoke to Mrs Hudson, who was only too delighted to oblige. "Oh John I'm sure Sherlock will love a present. You know how difficult he has been lately. But you know he swept past me this morning without so much as a Goodbye. I think he's got a big case on. But you will know all about that John? "She said tapping her nose.

"_Oh Yeah. Bastard didn't tell me."_

"Of course." John kissed his landlady, muttering thanks.

"_This is war."_

A few hours later Sherlock returned and noted his friend's annoyance, it was all to do with John's huffing and puffing and shaking the newspaper out. Not making eye contact deliberately. John was so obvious. It turned out that Sherlock had not had a "_Big Case" _and had forgotten to tell John. He had just told Mrs Hudson that he had.

Sherlock told John this over a couple of glasses of whiskey, whilst they sat across from each other, the coal fire lighting and warming their flat.

"Why?" said John.

"Reason John; because I wished to avoid Mrs Jones from Mrs Hudson's knitting circle, who was quite insistent that her cat was addicted to cucumber and this was obviously a plot from the Vegetarian Cat Society to "_bully her."_ as she insisted to me, into becoming a member of said Society. "Dear Lord John, I couldn't get away fast enough."

"Where did you go?"

"British Museum."

"Why"

"Helps me think."

"Oh."

They laughed, and momentarily, as their eyes met, John's desire for payback time almost melted away.


	7. Chapter 7

Payback time Part 2

John's desire for payback time **almost** melted away, but on reflection, he decided to go ahead with his plan. After all it wasn't going to harm his friend, but it would certainly entertain John.

He knew exactly what he was going to do and the order in which it was to be done. However, he needed to get the timing right. Sherlock would have to be in just the right physical and mental state for John to administer the sedative without the Detective noticing. It was a clear, colourless solution which had to be taken orally. That meant slipping it into food or drink.

In his mind he listed all the instances where he could not drug Sherlock either because it would be impossible, or for fear of detection:

1. When on a Case-food and drink obviously out of the question

2. When in manic violin playing mode

3. Whilst lying on the sofa staring at the ceiling and not talking for days

4. When on the odd occasion he was asleep

Realistically, this only left the option where Sherlock was so absorbed in peering into his microscope, that he would simply consume some food or drink that John offered to him without paying much attention. After all, John had perfected his technique in making the party food pinwheel sandwiches-tasty tiny morsels that he would arrange on a plate and set beside his experimenting friend. Sherlock would distractedly snatch them up one by one and pop them in his mouth. There was a problem with that though, because he couldn't predict how many of the pinwheels Sherlock would eat at one time and John needed to get the dosage of sedative just right. That left the "power drinks", as John called them. He made these in his juicer. Basically they consisted of different vegetables, fruits and herbs packed full of vitamins and minerals, processed together. Yes they were definitely the answer.

The opportunity arose a few days later. It was a Wednesday and his friend had been sitting in the chair all morning staring listlessly into the coal fire variously refusing offers of breakfast and shouting at Mrs Hudson. He had solved one small case on Monday and resolved a bigger one on Tuesday. John resigned himself to days of Sherlock moping around when suddenly; Sherlock leapt up and going into the kitchen began clattering about, opening cupboards and drawers.

"What are you doing? I was about to make some lunch for myself."

He heard Sherlock clap his hands together. "Vital experiment John! Oooh this is going to take the rest of the day. Excellent!"

John smiled. _A couple of hours and it would be time for some fun. However, in the mean time he would have to go upstairs and retrieve the bottle of sedative from his bedside cabinet and ask Mrs Hudson for the rest of "the stuff"._

John waited ten minutes or so and putting aside his newspaper, went upstairs and taking hold of the bottle unscrewed the top slightly to break the seal. He did this because he could not risk Sherlock hearing the distinctive click. The problem he had was that he had anticipated that Sherlock would be in the kitchen with said microscope and that is where John would have to prepare and spike the power drink. The noise of the juicer's motor running could conceal such a sound but he needed both hands when he was using it. One to control the power; the other to feed in the foodstuffs. With the cap already loosened, he could momentarily, take one hand away, grasp the bottle and spin the top off with is thumb.

He put the bottle in his trouser pocket-his cardigan would conceal its presence, and picking up a medical journal from the bookshelf sauntered downstairs. Placing it on his armchair, he went downstairs to Mrs Hudson to collect the rest of the "stuff". Once back upstairs he swiftly put them behind his chair cushion.

A few minutes later, John was calmly gathering together his ingredients: One small carrot; garlic; a handful of spinach leaves; half a head of lettuce and some ginger root. He took his time chopping, peeling and feeding it all into the juicer. The full amount of sedative was slipped into the mixture between the spinach and the lettuce going in. He poured the mixture into two glasses setting one beside Sherlock. He had calculated that half of the sedative inside Sherlock would be sufficient for the purpose.

He then cleaned the juicer and picking up the other glass, wandered off into the living room without saying a word. He poured the contents of his glass into a nearby pot plant, put the empty glass on his side table, and sat down to read the journal.

Fifteen minutes later he heard a long slow yawn from the kitchen. Turning around in his chair he saw Sherlock in the doorway stretching his arms. He walked slowly over to the sofa rubbing the back of his neck and lay down on his back, body stretched out, head laid on the arm rest; his eyes closing.

John waited, observing the rise of fall of Sherlock's chest until he was certain that his friend was fully sedated. He stood up and grabbed the "stuff" from behind his cushion. Taking the two little pots of face paint; one coloured black; the other red; he set the paintbrushes between his teeth and advanced towards the sleeping form. Opening the pots and placing them on Sherlock's stomach he then fetched a small stool. This he positioned close to the end of the sofa where Sherlock's head lay and sitting down made himself comfortable.

_To work!_

John began with the black paint and delicately applied a thin line from where Sherlock's right eyebrow met the bridge of his nose. This line he swept upwards at an angle of 45 degrees to the hairline. Stopping to dip the brush in the paint, he then brought the line downwards in a slight curve, ending it at the outside corner of Sherlock's eye. He repeated the same pattern on the left-hand side. The nose was the easy bit. He created a block of colour at the tip in the shape of an inverted triangle.

_Now for the whiskers:_ One, two, three, four, five on each cheek plus a few little dots above Sherlock's top lip. John admired his handiwork. Ok it wasn't the best but it looked good on his friend.

_Now for his lips: _Loading the other brush with red paint he filled them in slowly, careful to delineate the outlines perfectly with no smudges. _Hmmmh. _He stood up, putting the stool back where it belonged.

Chuckling to himself, John grabbed his phone off the side table and took a couple of pictures of his face painted friend._ Yeees! _ That done, he took the paint and brushes into the kitchen, dumping them in the trash. He also washed up Sherlock's empty glass. He tied up the plastic bin liner ready to take to outside later. For now, all he had to do was remove the evidence from Sherlock's face.

Bringing back some tissues with him, he massaged the coconut oil into Sherlock's face. The skin was remarkably soft. Using both sets of his fingertips at the same time-one for each side of the face, he described circles around Sherlock's eyes: stroked his cheeks with upward sweeping movements. Using his left middle finger he dabbed more oil on the end of the nose, rubbing it in slowly; the lips required more oil as the red face paint was quite concentrated here. He slowly traced first the upper, then the lower lip with a forefinger. Three times this was repeated. Finally, gently, he wiped off the paint. His friend hadn't moved a muscle.

Finished he went back into the kitchen debating whether to trash the coconut oil as well, but decided to keep it in the Medical Supplies cupboard as it might be useful in the future.

He washed and dried his hands thoroughly and returning to the living room, connected his phone to his laptop. Quickly glancing at a still sleeping Sherlock, he began the upload. Oh yes, he could go viral with these if ever Sherlock really, really annoyed him. But for the time being they would remain a threat. _And when I create the password for the folder I'm going to keep them in, even he won't be able to work it out._

Scanning his screen he was puzzled that he couldn't see the two recent pictures. Wait a minute, don't panic, they've got to be there. Nothing: He sighed, trying to work out what had gone wrong.

He heard a rustling sound to his left and turned his head. Sherlock sat up, swung his legs from the sofa and stood-all in one graceful feline movement.

He smiled broadly at John. "Problem?"

"I er, no it's nothing." John hastily unplugged the phone.

Sherlock turned to look in the mirror, tilting his head this way and that. John felt himself blushing.

"Pity you wiped it off. I could have had fun scaring Mrs Hudson. Mind you, I wasn't entirely sure which animal you were describing on my face until the whiskers. They were a bit of a giveaway."

John let out a long sigh.

"How did you…..Oh God, you didn't drink it? What did you do, throw it down the sink? I didn't hear the tap running."

"On the contrary, John, I consumed your delightful concoction. You see I am resistant to many sedatives, having experimented with them over the years, and really the dosage you administered merely made me feel deliciously relaxed."

John was looking crestfallen and embarrassed all at the same time noted Sherlock, nevertheless, he continued relentlessly.

"You arrive home some weeks ago clutching a paper bag clearly marked Pharmacy. Nothing unusual in that of course; except for the fact that the said medicine remained unopened by your bedside. If you were going to use it as a replacement for your normal medication then I would have expected you to have thrown the rest away. But no. In fact you have continued taking your usual pills. You have 5 left each of ?"

John nodded dumbly.

"Therefore, the new sedative was clearly intended for an inhabitant of this flat, which obviously was not you. Sooo. Really John it was less than child's play. I am a little disappointed in you. The method of administration was also obvious. It had to go in your vitamin drinks and I generally consume those when….. Well you know of course. As for the face paints etc…."

John held up his hand.

"Yeah go on, how did you know about them? Give me the brilliant deduction to show me what an idiot I've been." John said in a defeated voice.

"John I am brilliant but not psychic."

John visibly brightened at this admission. Then frowned.

"I suppose you deleted the pictures from my phone when I was in the kitchen."

"Yes. An adequate deduction."

"Oh well, I still have the memory of your painted face." John smiled tightly.

"Now!" Sherlock sank into his armchair. "In what situation were you going to globally release those pictures? I have a number of scenarios in mind, but you know I would be more amused to hear about them from you."

"Oh shut up Sherlock, you've had your fun, you win as always." John stood up with the intention of going out for a walk.

"If it's any consolation to you..." at this point, Sherlock was waggling his own phone in the air, "I have a copy of your handiwork." John stared at the image.

"You took it yourself?"

"Well of course. That way I have a copy of something which will provide me with a pleasant memory, if I choose to keep it, which I think I will. Furthermore, it is safer with me than with you as I now have control over how and when or if the image is ever used."

Sherlock clicked out of the phone picture gallery with a flourish of his hand. John moved towards the door, grabbing his coat as he went.

"John don't go just yet, I have something to say to you." The softness of Sherlock's voice stopped him in his tracks and he turned to look at his maddening friend.

"Come here John." John walked back until he was standing beside him.

Sherlock startled John by taking his hand and placing it against his own cheek.

"You have a natural ability. I mean you are skilled in giving massages. I." Sherlock looked up at John kindly, seemingly lost for words. "I found it very relaxing, no, soothing and perhaps you could perform it again sometime?" He let go of John's hand.

Seeing the genuineness in Sherlock's expression, John nodded and put his coat to one side.

"And by the way, I can assure you, I will never delete the picture."

A comfortable silence filled the flat.

**A/N And now we leave them. This is definitely the end of 'Cold'. Thank you for all your reviews, I'm so glad you liked this.**


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